


Presentable

by KipRussel



Series: faden in (or: how i learned to cry about dylan a lot) [2]
Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hiss in your brain isnt fun except you sure think it is, a little peek into what might being going on before Dylan gets to Central Executive, and gosh dang is there a lot going on in there, this one's a bit esoteric friends! but hey its Control, trying to balance the many facets of what dylan must be feeling is difficult but I hope I got it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipRussel/pseuds/KipRussel
Summary: He stares past himself in the mirror. Strong. Better. Free. So close, so close. He watches his lips ghost out words that he needs to say. So say them. He lets them flow out like a river from a dam, rushed, at first, then rhythmic. And it makes everything seem so clear. It makes his lungs burn. It makes him smile. Happiness comes. This is it. White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye. He needs to tell them all. Free them. Through a mirror, inverted is made right.
Series: faden in (or: how i learned to cry about dylan a lot) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089236
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Presentable

Dylan finds himself standing in the middle of security, in the Containment sector. Full of energy. Numb, but full of life. The room is dark, except for the blaring alarms and sirens and screens, announcing his escape. They sound so distant, so muffled. Like fireworks. A celebration. But they hardly compete with the Hiss. With this taste of freedom.

Where should he go, now that he’s free? 

_Out._

Of course out. Can he go out now? 

_Not yet._ No, of course not. Where should he go? 

_Central Executive. They’re gathered there._

Darling? Trench? 

_Darling? Darling. No Darling. Trench is dead._

Of course. Of course…

The Bureau’s halls slide past him in his peripheral, feet carrying him toward the elevator. It’s so empty, now. Besides the staff levitating near the ceiling. The Hiss stops him from saying ‘hello’ to them. He just wants to greet the others. Their words float down to meet him, new, but familiar.

He catches a glimpse of himself in an office window as he carries onward. There’s blood on his hands. Something in him flares at this— panic? Guilt? Remorse? Fear?— but it vanishes into the sound around him. He blinks, slowly, tilting his head, analyzing his reflection.

_Blood. That will scare them. Even more than how they’re already scared of me._

_We want them to be scared of you._

_Yes. No. No, no, they’ll lock me away again._

_You’re their Director._

_No I’m not. I’m their failure. P6._

_Prove them wrong._

_How? Show me how._

_We wait in the stains._

_An ambush. A waiting game._

_The word that describes this is redacted._

_They’ll shoot me if they’re too scared. The ambush would fail. I need to be... presentable. I need to clean up._

He rolls his head, stretching his neck, blinking again, clearing his vision. He turns to take in the room around him. Unfamiliar. But exactly the same as everything the Bureau does. And a bathroom. He walks toward it, slowing at the hissing thought of _careful, careful_. But nobody else is in the bathroom. It's just them. Him. His stomach lurches. 

_Them?_

The Hiss fills his thoughts like an ambient noise, like music, like air. Not Polaris. She's shut up, finally, _finally._ He can just rest. It does the rest.

He stares past himself in the mirror. Strong. Better. Free. _So close, so close._ He watches his lips ghost out words that he needs to say. _So say them._ He lets them flow out like a river from a dam, rushed, at first, then rhythmic. And it makes everything seem so clear. It makes his lungs burn. It makes him smile. _Happiness comes._ This is it. _White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye._ He needs to tell them all. Free them. _Through a mirror, inverted is made right._ He stares past himself in the mirror.

_They’ll be even more scared if they see the blood._

_Leave your insides by the door._

He turns the faucet on, slowly, deliberately. He holds his open palm underneath it and lets the water pool; watches it run, flowing over his hands, down the drain, vanishing back into the House somewhere. The water grows colder and colder, until he realizes he can’t feel it anymore.

_Repeat the word. The name of the sound. It resonates in your house._

Too bad, for those agents in his cell. He forgives them, though. They got what was coming. Now that they’re…

_After the song, time for applause._

The Bureau must see so clearly now. Those without… what are they? What is it?

 _Hedron Resonance Amplifiers._ Yes, yes. 

Too bad Trench couldn’t stick around. But the Bureau will meet its end some way. The Hiss is the better option. Better than her. _Hate. Polaris, Hedron._ He grips the edge of the sink, fingers clenching the sides, eyes blurring, unfocusing, as the unease and anger boils inside him, radiating outward.

How long? How long has he been here, left to rot? Lied to, blamed, forgotten? It burns within him. Fuels him. He hopes. What if it hurts him? Or the Hiss? The better option… stronger… he’s… better now. He can’t feel the cool of the water. His lungs burn.

_You can almost hear our words but you forget._

It overcomes him in a wave, making his eyes heavy, numbing, soothing, relief. It tastes sweet. He can barely taste the bile and bitter on the back of his tongue, in the words. 

_Repeat the word. The name of the sound._

No, no, there’s nothing bitter in these words. It feels good. It makes him feel good. The words seem so kind, so understanding.

_You are home. You remind us of home._

Satiating. The Hiss agrees with him. The Hiss likes what he says. The Hiss shows him so much. It makes sense. The better option. A plan. Together, they’ll do it together. The Hiss will do it. It flows, overflowing, over him, and he sinks further into it, blinking heavily, like drifting into sleep. He smiles contentedly. It feels beautiful. It feels like understanding. Like he is understood and understands. He feels powerful. Capable. In control.

The sourness is gone. The bitter. What is the bitter? The Hiss? No. No, it can’t be. All the sourness will melt away, all the bitterness vanish, when he reaches his goal. _Their_ goal. Revenge. Payback. Correction. He will be the new Director. The Hiss’s Director. Leave the FBC behind. Spread the word. Change the world. No more Polaris. No more. The Hiss understands. 

_Why do you understand? Why do we feel the same?_

_We build you till nothing remains. The egg cracks and the truth will emerge out of you._

He drifts further into a sleep. Awake, but distant. Like trying to guide himself through a dream, just on the edge of consciousness. Like his body is far away, somehow. The relief the Hiss brings makes him breathe deep, tipping his head back, stretching, collecting himself.

_Where do I go? After Central Executive?_

_Astral Plane. The Board. Broadcast our message._

_Yes. Okay. Spread the word._

_Hurts to be happy. An earworm is a tune you can’t stop humming in a dream. Baby, baby, baby, yeah._

He looks up at himself in the mirror. The blood is gone. He doesn’t remember cleaning up at all. 

_Just plastic. So safe and nothing to worry about._

The Hiss doesn’t let him think about that too hard. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t mind. It’s so easy to rest in. The words flow over him. It’s so fun to sing along. In the halls, again, he sees his sister’s portrait on the wall.

_Jesse? Director? The Bureau got her too?_

_Hahaha. Funny._

The elevator doors close and plunge him into darkness.


End file.
